


they ask me if I still think about you

by wreckthatnecklace (therestisdetail)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, it's film noir nobody asked for, sue me, this is a period piece. it is in the past.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-16 01:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18681784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestisdetail/pseuds/wreckthatnecklace
Summary: Vanessa is pretty used to playing up to her rougher edges when a potential client comes in dressed like they're old money and have problems to throw that money at. It certainly seems to work today, so she delivers on being plain talking - fuck it, rude as hell - and willing to get her hands dirty.Nina, dressed to the nines and pretending like she hasn't being crying recently, hands over a photo. It's a beautiful blonde, glancing at the camera like she knows something the photographer doesn't; in Vanessa's opinion a goddamn dangerous combination."Okay, Mary," she says, laying it on thick. "So how long has it been?""Twelve days," Nina says, admirably composed. "Twelve since anyone heard or saw of Brooke. I- I'm not concerned about how much this costs.""Then we're on," Vanessa says, because well. That's what she likes to hear.





	1. they ask me if I still think about you

 

 

Vanessa is pretty used to playing up to her rougher edges when a potential client comes in dressed like they're old money and have problems to throw that money at. It certainly seems to work today, so she delivers on being plain talking - fuck it, rude as hell - and willing to get her hands dirty.  
  
Nina, dressed to the nines and pretending like she hasn't being crying recently, hands over a photo. It's a beautiful blonde, glancing at the camera like she knows something the photographer doesn't; in Vanessa's opinion a goddamn dangerous combination.  
  
"Okay, Mary," she says, laying it on thick. "So how long has it been?"  
  
"Twelve days," Nina says, admirably composed. "Twelve since anyone heard or saw of Brooke. I- I'm not concerned about how much this costs."  
  
"Then we're on," Vanessa says, because well. That's what she likes to hear.

  
  
*

  
  
"Bullshit!" Silk yells loud. "Sister, I thought you were just delusional with this. This is real private-eye pulp novel fucking nonsense."  
  
"Thanks and also go to hell," Vanessa says, because she means both of them equally. "Delusion what, bitch? I'm getting paid."  
  
"Drinks," A'keria says, with perfect timing, because this is her bar, and she is both beautiful and a flawless professional. "The usual, girls?"  
  
Big Silk is police, technically, but she isn't _the cops_. Which is a fundamental difference everyone in this bar understands, and why she has a standing tab and is welcome here with the rest of them.  
  
"Thanks," Vanessa says, "yeah."  
  
"Nope, no-" Silky waves a hand. "You don't just start with that and leave it, tell it."  
  
Vanessa pretends like that isn't what she wanted to happen. She shrugs. "Pretty missing girl and, get this, a politican."  
  
Even A'keria seems interested.  
  
"And he's not talking to police?" A'keria shares a look with Silky, who shrugs. "Okay."  
  
"And _she's_ not talking to police." Vanessa says, or rather specifies. Maybe it was too many shots, now she thinks about it. "She's not who you'd think of, for anything shady."  
  
"I don't know," A'keria says, pouring them both another round. "You said politician. That might be a couple contradictory statements, there."  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says, "but the last one you'd think. That one, what- that I can't say, obviously."  
  
"Oh," A'keria, says, with dawning realisation. "Oh, damn."  
  
"What?" Silky says, looking between them. "Bitch, who?"

 

  
  
*

 

   
  
Nina invites Vanessa over to finish settling their agreement, because as she points out, it's better if Vanessa sees what she's working with.  
  
Nina is running for office and a candidate of the people by repute, and Vanessa is inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, but the people sure don't live like this. She's a good host though, maybe they teach that in finishing school or whatever, to tell jokes and make people comfortable. Nina's good at it.  
  
"This is the guest wing," she says, after Vanessa gets the tour and is honestly starting to self-defensively blank out knowing how many rooms there are in this house. "Brooke's things are all here, I didn't - I looked around, after she didn't come home, but I didn't move anything. Just the photo off her desk to show you."  
  
"Great," Vanessa says. "Good. I'll take a look."  
  
"She stayed here when she was in town," Nina adds. "It wasn't unusual, she's a good friend. And a perfect houseguest. So, this is-"  
  
"Not normal, sure." Vanessa finishes, "But it took you twelve days to find me," she adds, because straight talking, that was the selling point. "And you didn't call the cops. Miss West, you have to front with me or I can't do anything for you."  
  
Nina wears her feelings on her sleeve with an openness that, given her profession, is probably just plain irresponsible.  
  
"She called me from a hotel." Nina says. "A few nights before. She was drunk-" she hitches over that enough that Vanessa mentally jots it down as something that hit harder than alcohol, no doubt. "Behaved, uh, a little strange, but it was fine. And I don't see how that's relevant."  
  
"You didn't fight about it?"    
  
"She knows I don't care."  
  
"You're running for Mayor, Miss West." Vanessa, points out, quite reasonably. "I mean, the scandal-"  
  
"She knows I don't care," Nina repeats firmly, without a second of doubt.  
  
Well. That raises entirely new questions about how 'a good friend' is defined, but at least it explains why she didn't go to police.  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says patiently. These things take time. "Okay, let me take a look at her room."

 

  
  
*

 

   
Yvie, when she's on shift and trying to make time go faster by any means humanly possible, tries to pin down exactly what it is that tips her off when someone checks in with a fake name. It's a fancy enough hotel, but it's still a hotel, and they do. She reads a bunch of novels in the spare time, but just from experience she thinks it might be something between the hesitation and the overconfidence, in equal measures. Waiting to be prompted, consciously not too eager, but all too prepared. Ask them to spell something and they've got it down, instead of blinking for a full second like the question was asked in ancient greek.  
  
A lot of beautiful girls come in with men who don't want to put their actual name on the register. The only one who has ever vaguely interested Yvie is Plastique - and she thinks that might actually be her real name, god help her parents - which is not just because she's the prettiest and tips the best, but because she seems to have an entirely different gig running to what you might assume.  
  
She comes in and has dinner with men who don't give their names and assert themselves by touching her too much but she smiles through it and before halfway through dinner in the restuarant there is always someone else, or a few people, and they sit down together and whatever they talk about Plastique introduces them first and from that moment she is in charge, charmingly directing them in particular directions whether they know it or not, but Yvie can see it from a distance just from body language. She usually leaves early, and whatever transactions go on, Yvie can only imagine.  
  
She comes by the bar and sometimes, tired or probably just bored, she stumbles over the name that's probably only in use today. Yvie winks at her and leans back so she can look at the register, then puts her dinner and drinks on the right guy's tab. Plastique gives her smile and roll of the eyes. It's not a friendship, precisely, but it's a something.  
  
Today is a red letter day, it really is that. Maybe fascinating partly because it's a woman, maybe because they meet alone and stay alone. But mostly it's because of the woman, who passes over one small bag. "I'm sorry, my friend is waiting at the bar," she says politely. "May I check in after?"  
  
"Yes," Yvie says. "Okay." She's exactly what every senator or industrialist's trophy wife that Yvie's ever checked in here either thinks she was or wishes she was; tall, blonde and exquisitely bored, wearing her gorgeously expensive clothes more than they are wearing her, a little bit foreign but hard to pin down. Women like this don't need anyone's help being introduced to anyone.  
  
"Okay, sure," Yvie says, actually paying attention.  
  
A conversation happens. Yvie watches from a distance, and refills their drinks only once. Plastique looks alarmed, and more than once the other woman reaches over to touch her knee, nothing but protective.  
  
"Thanks," Plastique says to Yvie when she asks for an order midway, absently. "Carmen will have the tequila, I'll have the same."  
  
She checked in as something else, and in that moment Not-Carmen meets her eyes and they both know it, but there's a mild truce, as if just to calm Plastique's nerves.  
  
"Thank you," Not-Carmen says. "I will."  
  
Yvie only nods.  
  
Later, Plastique leaves and Not-Carmen comes by the desk. "I wanted to ensure everything was in line."  
  
"Yeah," Yvie says. "It's all good. Jackie whatever is as good as Carmen, I guess. But I know which of our regulars come in too often and too late fucked up to remember they even did, which might be even better. Could sign you in like that. 'Cause I'm friends with Plastique." It's a really fucking good plan, okay.  
  
To Yvie's admiration and also disappointment, Not-Carmen doesn't blink. God, she's good. "Very interesting thought," she says "You're quite bored at this desk, aren't you?"  
  
"You have no fucking idea," Yvie says, passing over the keys and vaguely annoyed. It was a pretty good plan. "I'm so fucking bored, Miss Carmen."  
  
"I know it's terrible," Not-Carmen says quietly. "But sometimes it's better for your health, sweetheart."

 

  
  
  
*

 

 

  
  
Vanessa looks a lot at the photo. A'keria notices, and has opinions.  
  
"You like that girl."  
  
"I don't know that girl, and that's the fucking problem..." Vanessa stops short. "It's a professional problem. She has money and dresses and fucking ballet shoes everywhere, and a gun in the bottom draw. It wasn't loaded but it was there. And she didn't take it."  
  
"Sounds interesting."  
  
"Oh, fuck you."  
  
"Very interesting photo to be looking at this long, your damsel in distress-"  
  
"Fuck off," Vanessa says, laughing out loud. "Stop! I'm doing my job."  
  
"So where do you start?"  
  
Vanessa shrugs. "The hotel has gotta be the start, right? Where she acted some kind of strange."  
  
"You're going there?"  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says. "See what I can see, break a few heads together."  
  
A'keria hums, stern. "Little sister, what are you going to do?"  
  
"Ask first, because sometimes I'm pretty and people tell pretty girls things," Vanessa recites obediently, then does to her own script. "And then when that doesn't work I'm gonna break a few heads together."  
  
"Alright," A'keria says, mollified.  
  
"She might need saving," Vanessa says, too many drinks in.  
  
"Oh," A'keria says. "Oh, baby."

 

  
  
*

 

  
  
  
A night later Yvie is half an hour away from clocking off late when Not-Carmen appears, dragging a stunned looking Plastique with her.  
  
"Pay five hundred dollars," she says, pushing the money in Yvie's left uniform pocket, "and put her in a taxi and tell the driver to take her where he thinks the best late night food in this city is. Don't let him tell you where."  
  
"She's-" Yvie hesitates.  
  
"She'll be snapped out of it by then, she'll be fine," Not-Carmen says, clicking her perfectly manicured fingers to draw back Yvie's attention. "You don't know anything. And when anyone asks you questions, tell them everything you know about me, completely fucking honest, and that I told you to do this." She pulls out another wad of money, a bit more. She puts it in Yvie's right uniform pocket. "Stick that in your underwear or wherever and keep it if you can."  
  
Her jacket falls a little open as she does it, and Yvie's hindbrain offers her two thoughts; that is extremely nice silk lingerie and also; it might still be worth saving, bloodstains sometimes come out.  
  
"Fuck," Yvie says breathless, not sure if this is her worst ever night or quite frankly her best, "Am I going to find a dead body in your room?"  
  
"Sadly, no," Not-Carmen says calmly, cinching her coat shut and trusting Yvie, whatever that means, with Plastique. "He's still moving. Unfortunately."  
  
And then she walks out.  
  
Goddamn, that's a woman.

 


	2. you're the best lie I ever heard

  
  
  
The hotel Nina names shows up nothing, but that's not a surprise. What is a surprise is the incident report a few days later that makes Silky look twice at it, say fuck this noise, and shoves the print copy in her bra to give to Vanjie later. It's very confusing report and a much pricier hotel. So that's attempt number two, and evidence that Silky is a very good friend.  
  
"Is this, uh," Vanessa, says, and pauses. "Carmen?"  
  
"Yeah," Yvie says immediately, taking the picture Nina gave Vanessa. "And she looks that good in real life too. Hey, what's her actual name?"  
  
"I'll tell you if you run me through it again," Vanessa says, because this girl Yvie is something else, up in everyone's businesss like she doesn't know how to stop. It would be honestly hypocritical for Vanessa to deny her that, given that she's not much different and also Yvie's speaking to her without a warrant. Or ID. Or anything.  
  
"Sure," Yvie says, with the delight of someone who has run through this several times, and is enjoying embellishing each time differently.  
  
"-and I always assumed this other girl, she was some kind of meet-cute director for people who have money and other people who want things done. You know," she winks, "People that _get shit done_. She made sure they liked whatever the other guy had to say, and smoothed it all over if they didn't agree-"  
  
"And, also." Vanessa interrupts, half-hypnotised but also here on a specific job.  
  
"And then there was a woman not called Carmen," Vanessa prompts.  
  
"Okay, hey, yeah. She sounded Canadian? But that's what they do, right? Russian spies. She shot someone and then they both disappeared." Yvie says, buoyantly. Like all her Christmases just came at once. "Shot someone, and just fucking left the bloodstains and no one there. That's what spies do, I think. Russian ones."  
  
Yvie, as far as Vanessa can tell, met Brooke for maybe five mintutes total and yet in her own slightly manic way she seems determined to cover for her. Huh.  
  
"Her name is Brooke," Vanessa says, because fair is fair. "I know she did ballet as a kid. I guess life worked out different."  
  
Yvie nods, thoughtful. "I guess it did. At least you got a recent photo," Yvie says, turning it over to look at the stamp on back. "This is nice."  
  
Outside and later, Vanessa flips the photo over and takes a look at the date, which is after the alleged incident at the hotel, and then just under it the little logo of the place that developed the photos.  
  
"Fuck," she says out loud, because no one else is there to say it to her but she deserves to hear it. "You fucking idiot. Wow. You entire fucking dumbass."

 

  
*

  
  
  
It's up on high street and it's owned locally. She's about to go just make enquiries upfront when she mentions it down the bar and Soju corners her, smiling sweet, asks Vanessa to cover her bet and mentions that she has a friend who works there, he can spill the details.  
  
Vanessa loses two hundred dollars, and gains a whole lot more.  
  
"Okay," Soju says. "Fuck me, alright, I know. But hey, listen. These are some saucy photos, Vanjie! And obviously, all non-client copies of the negatives are destroyed in due course."  
  
"Would I be in anywhere the fucking zone of correct," Vanessa says carefully, "if by due course you mean when people are done gossiping?"  
  
"Damn right," Soju says, waving a small envelope at her. "Negatives only. Oh, these are good. When did you get into blackmailing upstanding politicians, Vanjie?"  
  
"Give me time, bitch." Vanessa says darkly, mentally upgrading her weekly rate. Nina had her here thinking she was chasing after some nice lost Canadian girl, not some kind of fucking... gangland black widow. "Give me time."  
  
The photos are - they're something. The one she was given must have been the only one where Brooke was still dressed. Nina is there, and a whole lot is implied, but there's something not quite right. The rest are exactly as suggestive and as staged as anything Vanessa has ever seen, and she knows the real thing looks different, she did her time chasing after any infidelity case that paid.  
  
These photos aren't like that. They're too good, look too real. You don't frame yourself against the window like that unless you know someone else is taking pictures, whether you're pretending to be drunk or not. Maybe not pretending, if you needed a bit of liquid courage to do it.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
Four years ago, Brooke sits herself down in Nina's lap and smiles.  
  
"Oh," Nina says shy, who only met her once before. "Ma'am, did you mistake-" Nina is shy, but also charmed and good and fearless. Brooke's never hated herself more.  
  
"Hey baby," Brooke says right back. "No mistake." Other people have tried, but Brooke knows she's better than other people. Nina might be better too, in the real meaning of the word, which Brooke realises too late.  
  
They click. They make each other laugh. They become friends, and it's- it's terrible.  
  
"I have something to sell you," Brooke says playfully, later. Nina's going places, and a lot of people are interested in slipping her some money under the table to do something for them when she gets there. Delivering that message is what Brooke does better than anyone, usually. "So how are you going to turn me out in the cold this time?"  
  
"I could say yes," Nina offers, quiet. They have had this argument before, usually right where they are now, having breakfast in Nina's courtyard garden.  
  
"To me, or to anyone? No, you couldn't," Brooke says, entirely at peace. "You're good. It's a character flaw you have."  
  
"Shit," Nina says quietly. She's good but she isn't stupid. "Brooke-"  
  
"Don't worry," Brooke says. "You said no. So it's no. And I have everything under control."  
  
It was true for almost four years.  
  
That's a real effort, she thinks. Nina doesn't need to know, she should never have to worry about it, how hard Brooke tried before she failed. But it was heartfelt and real, a fucking effort.  
  
Maybe that counts for something, somewhere. God knows she doesn't haven't anything else, Nina's the only good thing she ever knew. Maybe it'll count, somehow, when all this is finally fucking over.  
 

 

  
*

 

  
  
  
Blackmail doesn't make sense. Maybe with someone else, but Vanessa knows she's barely skimmed the surface of all this and yet she'd swear blind that Nina would give Brooke any amount if asked, no blackmail needed.  
  
Ruined, then. It was set up to ruin Nina, and Brooke, for whatever reason, played along and called her over to get caught in misleading photographs.  
  
She gets home late and is navigating her kitchen when she realises the living room light is on and she didn't do that. She turns and looks, realises she's not alone, and after her brain temporarily checks out her mouth takes charge. Like usual.  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says, standing shellshocked in her own apartment. "Here she is. Job done. Fuck me, I guess, and I'll cash the cheque now."  
  
Brooke, sitting in Vanjie's living room chair, sips a glass of Blue Label that Vanessa was saving, actually, and she has apparently helped herself to. She just nods, shoving another full glass in Vanessa's direction.  
  
"You were doing a very good job," she says. "I actually do mean that."  
  
Vanessa ignores the drink. "Nina did not front with me," she says a little bitterly, "about you, at all."  
  
"Be gentle with her," Brooke says. "She was honest with what she believed. I've been trying to convince her I'm a bad person for years and she just won't buy it. She has faith in people. It is absolutely terrible."  
  
"You do like her," Vanessa says, slightly surprised, ignoring the words and only paying attention to everything else. "Huh. Why'd you fuck her over, then?"  
  
Brooke blinks. She holds a hand out. "Give me the photos and that negative," she says, "and I'll explain everything."  
  
She won't. But also, Vanessa is very tired. Vanessa doesn't know what the fuck is going on. Vanessa trusts her instincts and thinks that whatever it is, she's probably not in danger right now. Also, the photos are of Brooke, so- it feels right. She hands it all over, and also grabs the drink because fuck, she needs it. Brooke takes the full envelope to Vanessa's dingy little kitchen stove, lights up the gas and burns the whole thing right then and there.  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says quietly.  
  
"That is not what I thought you'd do," she adds.  
  
"Explain?" she says, feeling a bit light-headed.  
  
"I do owe you that, yes," Brooke tells her. "But, uh, I'm-" she pauses. "Yeah, I'm a bad person. Did you know that you shouldn't take drinks from girls who break into your fucking house?"  
  
Vanessa looks down at her drink, blinks and tries to take a step, and crumples. She doesn't hit the floor though, because Brooke is ready for it and catches her, holding her gentle and lifting her to the couch.  
  
"God," she mutters, under her breath and probably not meant out loud. "You're just a tiny little thing, aren't you?"  
  
"Fuck you," Vanessa slurs, before everything gets blurry, because she has her pride.  
  
She does feel herself be placed down carefully though, and her hair tucked away from her face.  
  
"Go cash your cheque, baby." Brooke says, seemingly from a long way away. "I made a lot of the wrong people very angry by not going through with what I was supposed to do, and there probably won't be much of me left for you find. Spin Nina a better story if you can. She deserves a happy ending."

 

 


	3. if we go down, let's show them we were better

 

  
  
Vanessa storms in looking a mess with a headache she proclaims is not her fault, a couple of fistfights worth of pent-up fury in her body language and calls a war council, more or less.  
  
"What do you need, baby?" A'keria asks her, trying to make sure this stays at least within the bounds of no broken furniture. "I can open the bar." It's ten in the morning.  
  
"I need a different job, a vacation, and a fucking fancy home in the country." Vanessa says. "Fuck it, give me a drink."  
  
The war council is small but real, Vanessa and her two girls.  
  
"I didn't find her, she found me." Vanessa says bluntly. "And I think she thinks she's going to die because she didn't fuck Nina over when she was told to, and ain't doing shit about it. She wants me to lie to Nina. You know, make up a nice version for the family so they can sleep at night."  
  
"Oh," A'keria says. "That's- that's a lot."  
  
"Interesting," Silky says, and takes a few peanuts.  
  
"I'm not going to stop so long as Nina keeps paying me," Vanessa says bluntly. "And also that bitch broke into my home and told me not to worry about it and drank my fucking nice booze. So she's not allowed to die until I find her and get to kick her ass for that. She's not _allowed to_."  
  
"Well," Silky says. "We might want to look at who Miss Nina West is running against. If we can't find this crazy-" she stops short and revises what she's going to say, because A'keria is glaring at her, "- this woman, we can find who paid her and got mad when she broke contract." Sometimes, people forget Silky does this shit, like really, and for her job. "Just to start."  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says. "Yeah. I'll - yeah."  
  
A bit later, they part ways, and there's only Silky and A'keria.  
  
"She's head over heels," Silky says, mournfully.  
  
"We don't know that," A'keria says, but she doesn't even sound like she believes herself. "She might just be crushing, or-"  
  
"Nah," Silky says. "Vanessa is head over heels about this bitch, and it's a bitch who comes with a body count."  
  
"Fuck," A'keria says, quietly. "Okay. Yeah, fuck."  
  
From what they've heard and seen Brooke is pretty as all hell, might actually come from hell express-post direct, and when she gets feelings she might also be a bit of a martyr. Vanessa has a terrible tendency to try and save people, and Brooke ticks all the boxes and then some, to Silky's despair and A'keria's concern. This is going to be a whole thing.  
  
Fuck.

 

  
  
  
  
*

 

  
  
  
If you go by the polls, Nina is a frontrunner. If you go by history, Shuga is going to claim this district like she has for years. If you read the tabloids, Scarlet is a very fascincating silver-screen star and an interesting person to be putting her hat into the the ring.  
  
And here is how democracy works: no one knows yet, how this is going to turn out.  
  
Or at least they shouldn't, if the cogs and wheels trundle on as they ought to.  
  
It's how politics should work.  
  
It's not how politics works, but it should be.

 

  
  
*

 

  
  
It all starts, a few weeks ago now, when Brooke wakes up with headache that is entirely her own fault, because the amount she needed to drink to even pick up the phone and call Nina would make any medical professional concerned. She's safe and home, Nina's of course, in bed and she drank water and all of those things are because Nina took care of her, and ignored the fact that Brooke was naked and kissing the corner of Nina's mouth and grabbing at her in all the ways they mutually agreed, a long time ago, would only get in the way of a friendship.  
  
Brooke solves the hangover with the only real proven solution, which is two or four or- it's more drinks.  
  
Mid-way down a bottle, it occurs to her that this might be it. This might be the one thing she can do.  
  
As soon as she decides that, it becomes kind of easy. Everything hurts and she's miserable, but she has a job to do, and above everything else, she is a fucking professional.  
  
Ra'jah took the photos and doesn't give a shit. "I don't know," she says abruptly. "They're in the shop, the fuck do you want me to do?"  
  
"Nothing," Brooke says quietly, and kisses her cheek quick. "Thank you."  
  
Ra'jah stares, then kind of smiles. "Fuck off," she says, quiet.  
  
"Yeah," Brooke says sweetly. "Okay."  
  
She goes to the shop about half an hour before the photos are due to be done, and it turns out they are, and they give her them without much hesitation because while she's not who is scheduled to pick them up she is the one in every shot, her face and also a whole lot more of her.  
  
"Thank you," she says, politely.  
  
She's a bad person, but no one here recruited a fucking idiot. The photos burn immediately. She'll pretend she still has them as long as it keeps her alive, but they burn a long time before anyone else gets a say or tries to change her mind. The movie version of what she does is fine, it's Lauren Bacall, Joan and Rita, but life doesn't work out like that. Nothing is going to be explained unless she already did it, not a word until no one, including her, can impact the outcome.  
  
There will be loose ends. She needs to see Plastique, who everyone knows was her protege and her friend, to tell her to take that holiday overseas she's been planning right now, go see family and avoid the mess that's coming.  
  
She really does hope no one comes down on Ra'jah too hard.  
  
Nina is- her heart is wholly in Nina's keeping, quite honestly, and she's scared Nina won't take this well, but it's the best thing for her so Brooke steels herself and does it.  
  
Nina does not take it well. Nina hires this girl to find her, so that's another loose end. She is a tenacious little thing, and Brooke is entirely charmed by her.  
  
Fuck. This isn't the time to be getting feelings, she has to tie up loose ends and go out at least knowing she tried. It isn't good, to get distracted now.  
  
She is, though.  
  
She's very distracted.

 

 


	4. no-one knows the strength you have when you grit your teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa goes home and finishes the bottle Brooke opened, because, fuck, what is done is done.
> 
> She doesn't do it immediately, she hovers a little, thinks about what it might look like, if Brooke was there again. Sitting in her living room chair, unexpected.
> 
> She isn't though, and the bottle is open, so.
> 
> She ends up scrounging up a little tea-light candle from her kitchen because she's drunk and sentimental and her grandmother once told her that's what you do, put a candle out for the lost and they will come home.
> 
> It's okay to be dumb and sentimental if no one else is ever going to know. It's just a candle.

 

  
  
Vanessa tries to talk to Scarlet first. She is perhaps the more unusual candidate - a household name, she has a very impressive resume when it comes to being everyone's finest ideal of womanhood in the westerns, and she dresses very nicely, but also she has no experience, as far as Vanessa can tell, running anything or running for anything. She's certainly making a splash, though. Good for her.  
  
Vanessa gets nowhere, because of Scarlet's receptionist.  
  
"I am very sorry," the girls says, with absolutely no feeling behind it, not sorry at all. "She is busy right now. May I make you an appointment?"  
  
"I can see her," Vanessa says patiently, "right in the office behind you, painting her nails."  
  
"Yeah," the girl says. "Also, she's busy right now. May I m-"  
  
"Oh my god," Vanessa says, out loud.  
  
Twenty minutes later Vanessa has gotten nowhere, because either this girl's real father was a fucking brick wall or she's some kind of a genius.  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says eventually. "Your name is?"  
  
"Ariel," says Ariel.  
  
"Ariel," Vanessa tells her, "whatever Scarlet is paying you, she should triple it."  
  
"Yeah," Ariel says, apparently as bored with her own affairs as she is with everything else in the world. "I know."  
  
Shuga is a little easier to access, maybe because she's been in the game longer and knows there is a value to being seen to be someone you can speak to.  
  
"Hi," Vanessa says, not actually having thought she'd get this far. "How do you feel about Nina West?"  
  
"I think she is a voice we've needed for a long time, I respect her very much, and I look forward to a time when the policies she talks about are a feasible option for real, working class people," Shuga says, absolutely nailing the delivery, and Vanessa is impressed. She's also pulled aside, by Shuga herself.  
  
"Good answer," Vanessa offers.  
  
"Thanks, I practiced it," Shuga says, a bit more relaxed now they are in private, and wry. "You're not a journalist, honey, so what are you playing at?"  
  
"I vote," Vanessa says blandly. "I was interested."  
  
"Okay," Shuga says gently. "But just in case, is she-" Shuga pauses. "I haven't seen Nina without Brooke for a while. She's the pragmatist of the two of them, she brings Nina back to earth and guides her through when it isn't a nice place to come back to. I haven't seen her for a while. How is she?"  
  
"I wouldn't know," Vanessa says. "I guess Miss Hytes might be on holiday."  
  
"I guess she might be," Shuga agrees, not buying it for a second. "Thank you for your vote, honey."

  
*

 

  
  
  
Vanessa goes home and finishes the bottle Brooke opened, because, fuck, what is done is done.  
  
She doesn't do it immediately, she hovers a little, thinks about what it might look like, if Brooke was there again. Sitting in her living room chair, unexpected.  
  
She isn't though, and the bottle is open, so.  
  
She ends up scrounging up a little tea-light candle from her kitchen because she's drunk and sentimental and her grandmother once told her that's what you do, put a candle out for the lost and they will come home.  
  
It's okay to be dumb and sentimental if no one else is ever going to know. It's just a candle.

  
  
  
*

  
  
Silky will deny it until the day she dies but she keeps her eyes on the reports that match whatever bullshit Vanessa has gotten herself into.  
  
She picks up on one, gets there first, or at least gets there as the most senior officer.  
  
The woman is dressed real fancy, bleeding a lot and holding on to her waist like she's trying to hold herself together, but still giving sass. Silky doesn't know medicine, there's a lot of blood, maybe she is holding herself together. The other guy was less fortunate and, in Silky's professional opinion, is extremely dead.  
  
"Hello, officer," she says, perfectly polite, and if Silky hadn't seen the photo of Brooke that nonchalance would be all the proof she needed.  
  
"Okay," Silky says. The beat cops pay attention. She's the senior officer, after all. "He's dead. Go round up the usual suspects."  
  
They all do as they are told and leave them alone, and Brooke is wide-eyed.  
  
"Ma'am," she says, still holding on to her waist and bleeding a whole lot. "I am... confused."  
  
"Well so am I," Silky tells her, "But I got a friend I think knows you and I do all kind of dumb shit for friends."  
  
"Right," Brooke says with a smile. "I get that." And then she pitches over, unconscious.  


  
*

 

  
  
Delivered to Vanessa's couch limp and bleeding, Brooke makes it through the night, and two things happen.  
  
One, she wakes up and the first thing she says changes A'keria's mind about her entirely. A'keria is a bartender, okay, but she's also a good seamstress, and today is enough of a rare disaster that her other skills come in to play.  
  
Two, she gives up too much information.  
  
"Hello," Brooke says, bleeding out and drugged to the brim, waking in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, touching softly at A'Keria's face. "I- I'm bad news. Did you know that?"  
  
"That's okay," A'keria says, warming to her for the first time and also stitching her back together. "It's not my house, I don't fucking care."  
  
"I'm dangerous," Brooke tries, attempting to move and failing, which is humiliating. "Not safe. To have me here."  
  
"Yeah, you are dangerous to everyone, literally wherever the fuck you are," Vanessa tells her, stomping around because she doesn't know how to help with stitches and is furious about it. "Nah, no. You're staying where I can fucking see you. You stay right there."  
  
Two things happen: A'keria warms to her, and Brooke starts having feelings about Vanessa she couldn't wind back even if she tried.  
  
"Don't you dare die," Vanessa says at some point, grabbing her hands, "Or I will fucking kill you myself."  
  
"That's an oxymoron," Brooke points out, incorrectly but also very tired.  
  
"You're an oxymoron," Vanessa says immediately. "Bitch. No, no- wake up-"  
  
It's kind of nice to drift off, berated by someone that cares. Brooke does wake up, later and for real, but if she didn't that would've been okay. It was nice.

 

 


	5. there’s a church at the end of the path where the sign reads beware of the God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke wakes up in a bed that is clean, and the window is open and bright, and someone at least attempted to stitch her together and put her in clean clothes while they were at it.
> 
> These are all extremely promising signs.
> 
> "Hello," someone nearby says.
> 
> "Hello," Brooke replies obediently. It's a winning formula, mostly. Be sweet until you know what the fuck is going on, and can actually do anything about it.
> 
> "I'm Vanessa," the person says.
> 
> "Oh," Brooke says, a little more lightly. "I know you. I owe you an explanation."

 

Brooke wakes up in a bed that is clean, and the window is open and bright, and someone at least attempted to stitch her together and put her in clean clothes while they were at it.  
  
These are all extremely promising signs.  
  
"Hello," someone nearby says.  
  
"Hello," Brooke replies obediently. It's a winning formula, mostly. Be sweet until you know what the fuck is going on, and can actually do anything about it.  
  
"I'm Vanessa," the person says.  
  
"Oh," Brooke says, a little more lightly. "I know you. I owe you an explanation."  
  
"You do," Vanessa says, and the unfinished "bitch" at the end of that sentence is both palpable and kind of charming, that she's trying not to do it. "But just so everything is fucking really clear, that's not the price for safe harbour, okay? You're good here, even if you don't spill it." She rolls her eyes. "But for the love of god, fucking explain sometime soon."  
  
"What's the price, then?" Brooke asks. It's sensible to ask.  
  
"No, I-" the girl seems almost upset. "It's a figure of speech, I didn't fucking-"  
  
"You're nice." Brooke informs her, patting her cheek. "But there's always a price, sweet thing."  
  
"What are you up for paying, then?" Vanessa says quietly, more like she's curious, than really actually asking.  
  
"Don't know," Brooke says. She did owe this one an explanation, of sorts. "Never saw a fight out this long, never stuck to it. I didn't know I'd be this tired. Probably a lot."  
  
She drifts off further back to sleep, and remembers none of this interaction.

  
*

 

  
  
"Did she really kill a guy?" A'keria asks, watching Brooke sleep.  
  
"At least one," Vanessa says. Has to be honest. "Probably not just one."  
  
"And we're fine with that?"  
  
"Look," Vanessa says, "I do think he tried to kill her first."  
  
"Well," A'keria says, extremely doubtfully. "That's fine, then. We're fine with that."  
  
"We're provisionally fine with it," Vanessa says. "We need to hear her side of the story."  
  
"The kind that, you know, kills guys. For real dead."  
  
"Yes," Vanessa says. "That one."

  
*

 

  
  
  
Vanessa leads Brooke out to the living room, when she's looking steadier on her feet, and Brooke goes unresisting. She's wearing one of Vanessa's dresses, but it fits her a bit more like a shirt. She sits down, sees Silky there and whatever kind of recording machine Silky has temporarily obtained from work, and just smiles.  
  
"Is this an interrogation?" she says, sitting forwards a little, crossing her legs just so. She holds out her hands, wrists upturned. "You forgot the handcuffs. Those always make this more fun, for all of us."  
  
Silky is not impressed. Vanessa, definitely not blushing, refuses to respond to that.  
  
"We're thinking a message," she says, glancing back. Silky nods. She carried that whole thing here, they're fucking going to use it. "For Nina."  
  
"No," Brooke says immediately, sitting back. The change from such a weaponised offer of softness to the real iron it's hiding is... Vanessa's getting used to it, but it's still. A lot.  
  
"Okay," she says, raising her hands. "Hear me out."  
  
"No."  
  
"Hear me out," Vanessa continues anyways, "Nina is losing her fucking mind. I can see it. And maybe she'll believe me, but maybe she won't really, and she'll want to see you and it'll be hard for me to explain why not without telling her shit, so this is the thing. You don't gotta say her name or yours. Just say something personal, right, and she'll know your voice. It can't hurt her."  
  
"We lost the bitch at saying something personal," Silky says, bored and merciless. "You gotta be a person first."  
  
"Yes," Brooke says. "You lost me with that, and not with recording things, because I've had such a fantastic track record with the times I've done that recently."  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says weakly, trying to avoid war across her kitchen table. "But she's not sleeping."  
  
Brooke hesitates.  
  
"I mean, like, I don't think Nina's sleeping," Vanessa says. "At all. So I thought I'd say I've noticed that."  
  
Brooke flinches very slightly. "Fuck," she says, to the ceiling, then reaches over and turns the damn machine on, glaring at Silky.  
  
"I am not ashamed of most of the things I did, because I'm bad but I'm not the worst. I didn't come to your church, to your home, I never made anything personal, I didn't-" she pauses. "Okay, I came to your home, but only when you invited me, you fucking maniac. Mainly, I came to you at your work, and in that place there's a lot of other people who get paid a whole lot to do the same bad things I do, every single day, they're just the right class of people to get away with it."  
  
She keeps going. "So I am not ashamed of anything, except the fact that I ever, for a moment, lied to you. That's the only wrong I ever did that I'll own up to. I am ashamed of it and I am sorry, because you're the counterbalance to everyone who is worse, and I love you very much."  
  
"Okay," she says, pressing stop on the recording. "Was that something a person might say?"  
  
"Jesus fucking christ," Vanessa whispers, eyes to the ceiling.

  
*

 

  
"She's not willing to explain?" Silky says, absolutely incandescant with fury. "Vanjie-"  
  
"She fucking will, she just, just give me a fucking second, she's still bleeding everywhere half the fucking time-" Vanessa yells back, because this is how they are, trading volume for volume but only because they care.  
  
"She didn't to Nina," A'keria points out, and both them deflate, because A'keria, frustratingly, is always right.  
  
"She didn't to Nina, and I think we all heard how she feels about her. So. Maybe not. But it's not an insult, at least."

  
  
*

 

  
  
  
Brooke stays put, for now, because she is so goddamn tired, and this little spitfire at her heels every second is - it's not terrible. Brooke would love the chance to get to know her, and so maybe she stays longer than she should. Sentiment is a terrible thing. Also, it's a tiny little apartment, so there's that complication the second night, when Brooke isn't entirely knocked out.  
  
Brooke stays put, in Vanessa's bed, even after the first night, after when Vanessa climbs back into it. It's a completely unspoken thing, and Brooke even moves to get out, find a comfy chair somewhere, when a hand on her waist just shoves lightly, so she climbs back in.  
  
Vanessa curls a bit around her, in her sleep. Not when she's awake.  
  
When she's awake, Brooke can feel she's a little tense, and respects the distance. Brooke is a professional, she knows when to stop.  
  
Vanessa, for her part, is very still only because she can't fucking stop replaying it in her head, over and over. Brooke admitting, right out loud, she'd probably pay anything for safe harbour. So that's why she doesn't move an inch, why she refuses to reach and and touch when she really, really does want to. Whatever she's feeling about it that doesn't count, not against an admission like that.  
  
In a truce built on misunderstanding, they both stay still. But close, too. It's been a long damn week.  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. and there it is now, she enters the room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years ago, Plastique is making something of a debut, and she's all dressed up, the prettiest doll Brooke's ever seen. Brooke relaxes enough she just has fun and dresses to complement rather than compete with her, a favourite Dietrich silhouette, a little dapper, a little hint of a threat to anyone gets too handsy on Plastique's first night out. She's not protective, fuck off. She's just - hey, fuck off.
> 
> "Everything in the world is about sex," Plastique says quietly. "Except sex, which is about power. Oscar Wilde said that, you know."
> 
> "Oscar was a bullshit artist," Brooke says fondly, hand at the small of Plastique's back. "But if that is true, you're the most powerful person in this room. Go get 'em, tiger."

  
  
Two years ago, Plastique is making something of a debut, and she's all dressed up, the prettiest doll Brooke's ever seen. Brooke relaxes enough she just has fun and dresses to complement rather than compete with her, a favourite Dietrich silhouette, a little dapper, a little hint of a threat to anyone gets too handsy on Plastique's first night out. She's not protective, fuck off. She's just - hey, fuck off.  
  
"Everything in the world is about sex," Plastique says quietly. "Except sex, which is about power. Oscar Wilde said that, you know."  
  
"Oscar was a bullshit artist," Brooke says fondly, hand at the small of Plastique's back. "But if that is true, you're the most powerful person in this room. Go get 'em, tiger."  
  
"Oh," someone says a moment later, coming over. "Darling, the latest model is quite stunning. But don't worry, you're still my favourite."  
  
"Fuck off, Nana," Brooke says, laughing, then leans over so Shuga can light her cigarette, and winking. "I'm good, but she's twenty-one."  
  
"Oh," Shuga says immediately. "I hate that."  
  
"Yeah," Brooke agrees, but also glances over a little more serious. "Hey. Unlike the old model, she's purely decorative, okay? Theatre, dinner parties, cocktail brunches, just the classy shit. She's a lady."  
  
"Sure, honey," Shuga says, looking both mildly surprised but also fond. "Believe me, I understand. I don't like you running around with those boys that you do. They play too rough, I don't approve."  
  
Brooke manages not to roll her eyes. "I promise, Nana, we only kill each other," she says, and enjoys Shuga's little wince at that, "and nice respectable people like you don't need waste time worrying about having any opinions on us at all." She pulls at Shuga's arm. "Besides, if I didn't go around meeting interesting people, I could never bring them to your parties."  
  
"How interesting?" Shuga says, drily.  
  
"Oh, he's about as good a conversationalist as that fucking table-lamp," Brooke says, and this is why she's Shuga's favourite, "but after you've endured being introduced to him, he'd like to to introduce you to a half-million in action committee dollars."  
  
"Well honey," Shuga says brightly, "that sounds like money I'd like to meet."

  
  
*

  
  
  
Vanessa keeps an eye on Brooke, and tells her not to move, because A'keria left clear instructions. She ducks out to get food - she'll cook for company, but her mama taught her what company is and it ain't Brooke, and hell will freeze over before she cooks for no good reason.  
  
When she comes back with take out Brooke is still on the bed where she should be, but flicking through a book Vanessa most definitely last saw in the living room. Un-be-fucking-lievable.  
  
"Hey," Vanessa says.  
  
"Hello," Brooke says back.  
  
It's the politest mexican standoff Vanessa never imagined having to deal with.  
  
"I could, like," Vanessa offers eventually, embarrassed about the quality of literature available in her apartment. "Get you something. If you're bored."  
  
"I'm not bored," Brooke says, sounding incredibly annoyed with either the situation or herself. "I can't get across your matchbox of an apartment without holding on to furniture, so that's awful, but also I'm dealing with a very intriguing problem."  
  
She's glancing at Vanessa kind of restless, though, which probably means she is terribly bored, and playing nice the best way she knows how. Fine, Vanessa doesn't mind. Getting flirted at by a beautiful woman, what a tragic problem.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yes," Brooke says. "A pretty stranger took me to bed last night and then nothing happened. Question one is why, but the better extra credit question is: will she do it again?"  
  
"She might," Vanessa says defiantly. "Look, okay, I didn't have anywhere else to put you, I don't want to go on the floor, and I am halfway convinced if I don't personally hold you down you'll be gone again, like you did before, smoke on the fucking wind. So if it's fine with you, I might."  
  
"What are you staring at?" Vanessa says.  
  
"Miss Mateo," Brooke says quietly, "I am staring at you, because you can't just say that sort of thing. Not when I have been trying to get your attention all morning and worried I am losing my touch."  
  
Fine, she is bored. If she wants to flirt, that's okay. Whatever. "Dunno," Vanessa informs her. "I guess you just look like a truck hit you right now."  
  
"I don't," Brooke says, almost too sure about it. She's not- she's not _wrong_. Split lip aside, she's sitting casual in Vanessa's ill-fitting clothes, stitches hidden, perfectly at home and smiling easy. "Baby, I've been reliably told I wear bruises pretty well. Some days, that's even the appeal."  
  
"No," Vanessa says, "stop that shit. Stop that. Witty little-" she actually means it, this time, "and kind of horrifying - that shit. I'm not going to get spooked, or whatever it is you're trying. So stop."  
  
The truce, strange thing that it is, holds.  
  
Third night, they sleep close, and while neither reaches out, it isn't tense. It's just there, and it just is.

 

  
*

 

  
  
Vanessa takes the recorded message to Nina and endures politely informing her that she tried, but she found nothing and isn't going to, so she's ending the contract.  
  
"I can't in good conscience keep taking your money," she says, and at least that part is true.  
  
She tells Nina that she didn't find anything good, but on the other hand, she didn't find anything bad either. Maybe the girl went back to Canada. She seems like the kind of girl who comes from family. Maybe she just went home.  
  
Nina doesn't know if that's true, but she thanks Vanessa for trying like an absolute trooper.  
  
Vanessa hands that one photo back and the audio tape with it. Nina blinks a bit but takes it like she gets it is important, and Vanessa feels fine about this.  
  
It isn't dated, because instead Brooke told them which one was Nina's favourite daily paper, flicked to her favourite columnist and read a few lines, effectively dating the statement. Brooke, yesterday, was alive and loves you. It is certainly a bit more convoluted than a phone call, but here's the truth: a phonecall only happens once, and also they wouldn't have such control over it. With this, they get that control, and Nina gets a piece of Brooke to keep, if she wants to, that might be a little less sad than an empty guest room of abandoned dresses and jewellery and even a stray hairbrush.  
  
Vanessa is actually kinda proud of herself about this one.

 

  
*

 

  
  
  
The shitty thing they never tell you, Brooke decides, about choosing to go out in a blaze of glory is the part that happens if it turns you're just too stubborn of a bitch to let yourself die. Because then it's just you, surviving and not much else, in the ashes of what you burned down. All alone.  
  
If she were nicer, or the world was nicer, she would've written a note thanking Vanessa for three nights where she was not, in fact, all alone.  
  
But she isn't and it's not, so. Fuck.

 

  
  
*

 

 

  
  
Vanessa comes back from seeing Nina and Brooke is gone, smoke in the fucking wind.  
  
She knew this would happen.  
  
There's some paper in the bin, scrunched up.  
  
If Brooke started on a note, Vanessa can't work out what she was trying to say.

 

  
  
  
*

 

  
  
  
No, really. She knew this would happen. And it isn't exactly fun, this time around, but this time she does have a contigency plan.  
  
She waits, practically vibrating with anxiety, until Honey calls.  
  
"You got eyes on her?" Vanessa asks immediately.  
  
"I got eyes on her," Honey says, sounding like she's on her last fucking nerve. "She's a nightmare, who is this girl? I'm charging you double."  
  
"Cool, yeah," Vanessa says, not even really listening. "Where are you both right now? I owe you a favour."  
  
"No," Honey says calmly. "You owe me the total I come up with later of billable hours. In cash. Here's our address."  
  
She knew this would happen, this time around. She's got a plan, too.

 


	7. i'm a rebel just for kicks now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where is she?" Vanjie says when she first get in the car, thankful that being paranoid as shit is literally in her job description, and she might get away with it.
> 
> "Down the street," Honey tells her, looking - disgruntled, probably, is the kindest word. "Because that's what the fuck you do, instead of getting proper medical attention, you go to the fucking salon-"
> 
> "You got eyes?"
> 
> "I got eyes on her, fuck you," Honey says. "She's not going anywhere."
> 
> "Says you," Vanjie says under her breath.

  
  
"Where is she?" Vanjie says when she first get in the car, thankful that being paranoid as shit is literally in her job description, and she might get away with it.  
  
"Down the street," Honey tells her, looking - disgruntled, probably, is the kindest word. "Because that's what the fuck you do, instead of getting proper medical attention, you go to the fucking salon-"  
  
"You got eyes?"  
  
"I got eyes on her, fuck you," Honey says. "He's reliable. She's not going anywhere."  
  
"Says you," Vanjie says under her breath.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Nothing. Sorry."  
  
"She's getting her hair done and I have eyes on her. If she leaves I don't care and I am charging you for literally everything, Vanjie, this has been a nightmare," Honey tells her. "She knows every fucking trick I ever  - whoever she is, I hope she put out."  
  
"No comment," Vanessa says, because she's honest and also for everyone's reputuation. "Can we stop off briefly? I made a stupid promise three days ago."  
  
"Of course you did," Honey says. "Hey, you know what they say about wounded animals being the most dangerous? That's the vibe I'm getting. Be careful, right?"  
  
"I didn't know you cared," Vanessa says.  
  
"I don't," Honey retorts. "I do not care. But this is off the books so if you die no one pays me."  
  
"I love you too," Vanessa says sweetly.  
  
"Okay, whatever," Honey says, "but really, who the fuck is this girl?"

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
Brooke Lynn Hytes doesn't lie to people she's in business with. The ones that actually like her call her an ice-cold bitch with a certain degree of admiration, and people that don't like her call her a whole lot of more colourful words, usually loudly and at great length. She doesn't ever lie to you, though, not outright, and reputations in their business have been built on a lot less.  
  
Shuga storms in, and from where she's lounged in an armchair Brooke weathers it with the peace of someone who saw it coming quite a while ago.  
  
"I was told I wouldn't have competition," Shuga says, furious. She doesn't actually lay hands on Brooke, though. She's the only one that wouldn't in fairly long line of heirs-incumbent Brooke has dealt with and endured, and despite everything, Brooke does respect her for that.  
  
"The last I heard, you probably don't," Brooke says. Not a lie. Not if you go by what the popular pundits are saying, right at the moment.  
  
"Scarlet-"  
  
"Scarlet," Brooke interrupts, "is beautiful, fashionable, old money, and wouldn't know a relatable policy if you threw it at her head." Brooke smiles, reaching out a hand, a pacifying gesture belied just a bit by how carelessly she does it. "Everyone will want to watch her but no one will want to vote for her, Nana. I picked her myself."  
  
Not a lie, although perhaps an exaggeration. They had been on Scarlet's father's yacht, bought with Scarlet's mother's money, celebrating New Year. Scarlet was high as a kite because Brooke always politely brings a gift for the host, and only the best for the girl with the silver syringe. When Scarlet was sobering up, though, she broke away from her set and settled at Brooke's side, talking about the one cause she can be passionate about; angering her parents, for sins undisclosed, and in the most public arena possible. Brooke herself was a few hits deep in inspiration and listened, and sympathised, and offered a mutually beneficial solution. Scarlet is charismatic, and Brooke knows the right people to make something start. "You won't win," she says, solemnly honest, and Scarlet laughs herself silly, because winning sounds a terrible lot like work, and therefore terrible.  
  
"Shuga," Brooke says, while Shuga steps forward to take her hands, social graces on autopilot while the rest of her is just angry. She looms a little, like this, and Brooke looks up at her. Vulnerable, seemingly pliant. This is good, she can work with this. "She's never seen outside her own tax bracket and doesn't even know how to pretend otherwise, let alone why she should."  
  
"And Nina West?" Shuga says, a little softer, calming down already.  
  
"Miss West is the kind of idealist that makes us all feel better because someone is saying it, so the rest of us can get back to being practical," Brooke says, which is true. Nina makes everyone feel better, even when they ought to take a look at her example and feel worse. "She takes me to breakfast," Brooke says. Not a lie. "Because she believes that we are friends." Not a lie, either. They did it this week. "Do you think you can lose an election to Miss West?" It's just a question, and a very fair one.  
  
Shuga thinks about that, and for now, is mollified, and for a little while she forgets about Nina West.  
  
Brooke is an ice-cold bitch, everyone knows that, but she doesn't lie to people she does business with. Not outright.

 

  
  
*

 

  
  
Three nights back, Brooke gives a few half-feverish, half-drugged answers before she sleeps, and Vanessa hesitates. They're illuminating and horrifying all in one package, so that's a thing. Then Brooke seems to go to sleep for real, and she decides knowing more is helping better. It's very simple math. So she tries to do that.  
  
As Brooke sleeps Vanjie revisits a hotel.  
  
"Hello," she says, when she finally gets Yvie at the desk. "Do you remember me?"  
  
"Yeah," Yvie says, brightening up, "you want to talk about a ballerina?"  
  
"Yes," Vanessa says, "but I think you told me all you got on that one. I want to know about her friend, the one you said is a regular. I'm trying to get a, uh, big picture."  
  
"Sure," Yvie says easy, "I mean, she came here like two years. And I was bored and took notes, even. What are you offering?"  
  
"Name a price," Vanessa says. She still has a lot of Nina's money left to spend.  
  
"Oh fuck that," Yvie says. "I got notes. I give you those, do I... do I get to come with?"  
  
Oh my god.  
  
"Okay, I'm a bitch but I'm not a liar," Vanessa says, making a split-second decision. Brooke is going to wake up any second, and if Silky is the only one in the house she doesn't know what she'll come back home to. "If your notes are good," she adds, spitting on her hand like they do with back-alley promises, "I will come find you if shit goes down, and you get to see what happens."  
  
Yvie shakes on it and takes her back to a little laundry room when her break is on, to show her the notebook. It's more a scrapbook than straight-up notes, with times and places scribbled down the sides but then newspaper articles too, pictures of Plastique in the society pages, Brooke as well and Nina and Shuga and Scarlet and and whole lot of lines in between, mapping it out- there are also doodles, and the one on the last two pages of Vanessa coming to ask questions is quite flattering.  
  
"Holy shit," Vanessa says out loud, alone in a small room with Yvie and becoming very aware of that. "You're a fucking serial killer."  
  
"Nah," Yvie says, unfazed. "I just read a lot of Raymond Chandler and my job is the worst. This is my, like, outlet."  
  
She's mapped out half the city's underground secrets, in a fifty-cent notebook, with little cartoons around it when that apparently wasn't interesting enough by itself.  
  
"You terrify me," Vanessa tells her.  
  
"Aww," Yvie says, warmly. "Thank you, babe."

  
  
*

  
  
  
  
Everyone knows Brooke Lynn Hytes doesn't care. No one puts it quite in those words, of course. People that actually like her call her an ice-cold bitch with both fondness and a bit of admiration, and people that don't like her call her a whole lot of more colourful words, usually loudly and at great length.  
  
It would be nice, and also convenient, if any of it were true. But Brooke knows her flaws and she knows this; everything in her life she ever let go of had claw marks in it.  
  
If she were smart, she'd have left Nina with a handshake and nod, one professional to another, four or five years ago. She didn't. If she were smart, she'd have left the city and Plastique to fend for herself as soon as things got dangerous. She didn't. Everything with Vanessa - not a moment of that was the smart thing to do.  
  
But. She did it.  
  
None of the above matters, though. Everyone knows Brooke Lynn Hytes doesn't care. And you can't argue against what everyone knows.  
  
"Hey," Mercedes asks quietly, scissors in hand and combing out Brooke's hair. "Miss Hytes, are you okay?"  
  
"Yes, honey," Brooke says immediately. "Just thinking. How are you?"  
  
"Okay, good." Mercedes looks anxious, which is unusual. "You don't look too well, Miss Hytes. Sorry, I just. I- are you going out tonight? Maybe you could stay in this time."  
  
Mercedes is sweet, and Brooke has been coming here for ages, wonders if she ever told her that.  
  
"You are very sweet, Miss Iman," she says, "I'm fine, just hungover. It's not the kind of party you can pass on, unfortunately. It's by invitation of the boss, you know. But do your magic, I'll rest after."  
  
"Okay," Mercedes says, and because it's true, and she is sweet, she glances around to check her manager isn't around. "I could get you a drink? If that would help."  
  
"Tequila," Brooke says, "if you've got it, angel."  
  
Her stitches are holding, but a tequila would help. She'll rest after, one way or another.

 

 


	8. i'd do it all again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What I don't get," Vanessa says, filling the silence while they are in Honey's car, and Honey has gone silent because Yvie is a stranger. "Is why they just don't let her fucking go do her somewhere else. She's too good, it's gotta be more economical in the long run to just let her go." She's never had employees but they have to be expensive to replace. Surely, at some point, it's just a cost-benefit thing.
> 
> "Depends who is her boss," Yvie points out.
> 
> "Sometimes the king gets real mad when he realises the queen is actually running the board," she adds.

 

  
"What I don't get," Vanessa says, filling the silence while they are in Honey's car, and Honey has gone silent because Yvie is a stranger. "Is why they just don't let her fucking go do her somewhere else. She's too good, it's gotta be more economical in the long run to just let her go." She's never had employees but they have to be expensive to replace. Surely, at some point, it's just a cost-benefit thing.  
  
"Depends who is her boss," Yvie points out.  
  
"Sometimes the king gets real mad when he realises the queen is actually running the board," she adds.  
  
"Oh, fuck me," Vanessa says irritably, because she can believe it. One of three people is being elected in to run this city tomorrow afternoon, and all of them, in different ways as far as she can tell but still all of them, are there because of Brooke. "And the king is?"  
  
"No one ever said." Yvie tells her. "It was real fucking taboo. Just, like, Him."  
  
"Obviously," Honey says, with a quiet cough, "we are talking about chess, and if you mention real names in my car I will throw you out while it's still moving."  
  
"Ohhh," Yvie says, delighted.  
  
They arrive at the fancy hotel Brooke is at, which is not Yvie's hotel but it turns out if you turn up saying you swapped shifts and are ready to go with the right jargon there is very little resistance from the very overworked day-manager.  
  
"Wow," Vanessa says.  
  
"Welcome to hospitality," Yvie tells her. "We don't count as people, but we get shit done. Her room is seventeen-two. Dress up in this and go for it."

 

  
  
*

  
  
  
  
Brooke is planning a fucking dignified exit, in all senses of the word, and one that doesn't involve having to explain herself to Vanessa. But here Vanessa is, so that goes out the window.  
  
"What the fuck," Brooke says immediately, when Vanessa knocks at her door and says housekeeping, pulling her inside. Vanessa is also wearing a uniform. "What the actual fuck," Brooke asks sincerely, "and as a follow up, why?"  
  
"Why? Because you are doing dumb shit, and I have a gun, if you want back-up." She says. "I have very many questions but this doesn't seem like the time. I do also have a gun, did I say that?"  
  
"I changed my mind, no, don't tell me why," Brooke says, stalking the room. "Get in the closet and stay there."  
  
"Nope," Vanessa says, "Not going to. I'm here and I know shit is going down so I am not going anywhere until I have solved you."

She says solved, very deliberately. The other word on her mind, also starting with 's' and ending with 'aved', is something she won't say out loud in front of Brooke. "Besides, I think you have a death wish, a bit, and I like you too much to let you do that without trying to knock some sense into you."  
  
"You are so incredibly confusing," Brooke tells her.  
  
"I'm confusing?" Vanessa says, outraged.  
  
"You are," Brooke says right back, not quite catching the warning signs. "I can't start to comprehend-"  
  
The staggering unfairness of it kind of sparks Vanessa to interrupt her before she can even finish. "I'm confusing?" She demands, gesturing between them. This bitch, really. "Me? I am the one that is confusing?" It's a fucking universal injustice, quite honestly.  
  
"You just say things," Brooke snaps back, "You just- fuck, you just say things, and mean all of them? You just say anything you think-"  
  
"I do me," Vanessa yells back. Yelling is great, she knows exactly how to react to yelling. Yell back louder. "I say it and I guess I mean it. If other people don't-"  
  
"No one lives like this," Brooke says urgently, "you just- you can't-"  
  
"Well, fuck everyone," Vanessa says. "I just do me. It's all the rest of you that is the problem."  
  
Brooke reaches for her, cups her face and just kisses her. It's the easiest immediately evident way to shut her up, and also Brooke has wanted to do it too much and for too long now. Vanessa kisses back, hand reaching for Brooke's shoulder.  
  
"Go to seventeen twenty-two," Brooke tells her after a long few moments, pressing two or three more kisses to her neck, just because she can. "It's right across the courtyard, get on the balcony and you'll have a pretty clear shot. At me, quite frankly, or anyone else. Go there, and know-" she kisses her again, "given better timing, I would have taken you out for dinner. Somewhere very nice. I would have."

 

  
*

  
  
  
  
The shitty thing they never tell you about choosing to go out in a blaze of glory is the part that happens if you don't, but Brooke is lighting a much bigger blaze this time, which is why she invited the one person in this city who she has ever reported to, officially. Well, the closest you get to official, with what they do. There's less paperwork. A lot is implied.  
  
She meets him as planned, to fucking conclude all this, and he brings Shuga. He actually brings Shuga.  
  
"I think you have something to say," he says, after he's knocked Brooke down and pulled her up again by the hair. "To our candidate."  
  
He banned them all from saying his name, and Brooke did that cheerfully, because to be honest that's how much he meant to her. She ought to be scared of him but she searches and just can't find the feeling. She's only angry. A little bit pleased, too, to see how he's fucked this up. He's fucked it up like she wanted him to, to make her last fucking statement out loud, but she's sorry he did it like this, because Shuga is caught in the crossfire. Shuga shouldn't be here. Shuga is a gentle soul and you keep this shit away from her. Brooke knows that. That's why Brooke gets things done.  
  
"I never intended to fuck you over," Brooke tells Shuga, truthful and on her knees, bleeding a bit, both at her lip and at her side, where the stitches must have split. She ignores both. "I just had to do other things, and it was a necessary by-product. So I did fuck you over, but I do love you, Nana. Please don't watch this. Close your eyes."  
  
He picks her up at the waist, and held at this angle, she knows Vanessa might not have a clear shot, or maybe she's done the smart thing and gone home. It's fine. She feels the barrel of the gun against the back of her neck and she's fine, she's okay with how this played out.  
  
There's a shot, loud, and someone drops.  
  
It isn't Brooke.  
  
She looks around wildly to see what Vanessa did, but then she sees Shuga, tiny little damn toy pistol in her hand, absolutely shaking. Shuga is a gentle soul, she doesn't get her hands dirty. Brooke catches her close as she staggers.  
  
"I got this," Brooke whispers, "no one saw you except me, and I never did. I got this."  
  
"He was going to hurt you," Shuga says quiet. "I-"  
  
"I know, darling," Brooke says, holding on to her, keeping both of them upright, if she's honest. "It's okay."  
  
"You're my favourite," Shuga says soft, and a bit in shock. "I didn't want to ever hurt you."  
  
"You didn't," Brooke says, possibly lying. It's kind of complicated, there's a lot of things she's done for Shuga that Shuga never needs to know about. "You never did. And you were never here, and it is all going to go away. And I know that. Because this is what I do."  
  
Tomorrow the public make their decision, and that's out of Brooke's hands. But she can be kind, given the opportunity. And she does know how to get rid of a body.  
  
"Tonight didn't happen, and tomorrow anything could. Go home, Nana, I love you and it's okay."

 

  
*

  
  
  
  
Over in seventeen twenty-two, Vanessa watches some kind of a fucking bigshot in a suit hit Brooke hard enough that she falls, then pull her up by the hair, and doesn't shoot yet. It is, in fact, easy to convince herself to do, only because she wants to tear his throat out up close and personal and bullet now would just get in the way of doing that later.  
  
"Do we not shoot now?" Yvie asks.  
  
"Not yet," Vanessa says with gritted teeth. "I'm fucking- I gotta let them talk. But he moves to pull a piece, I shoot."  
  
"Got it," Yvie says, nodding.  
  
The guy does more than that, picks Brooke bodily up and pushes a gun to the back of her head, and Vanessa pulls the trigger on him.  
  
The gun jams.  
  
The single second after that is the longest second Vanessa has ever known, it lasts for years, then she hears a shot go off across the courtyard and she's gone and running before she can even look or say anything to Yvie. She has to get to that room. She doesn't know why or how it might fix anything, but she has to get there.  
  
This guy was arrogant enough to meet Brooke alone, sort of, but not stupid enough to come alone, so there's another one loitering the hall leading up to Brooke's room. Vanessa, walking fast, doesn't break stride when she grabs a pretty hotel vase and slams it into his face while he's still working up the brain cells to ask who she is.  
  
She tries to open the door twice, remembers that you need a key and Yvie got her one, opens it and barges in expecting- she actually didn't get that far. She was just reacting.  
  
Brooke is there, her arms around Shuga, who looks like she's having an entire breakdown, and stares at Vanessa.  
  
"Hey," Vanessa says, her heart still pounding hard enough she's distracted by it. "You're not dead."  
  
"No," Brooke says. "I'm not. Also, I would like to get Miss Cain a cab."  
  
"Right," Vanessa says, still holding a gun. "Okay."  
  
Yvie is hot on her heels, and Brooke blinks a few times when she sees her, then just smiles. "Hello, you," she says.  
  
"Hi," Yvie says. "What are we doing?"  
  
"Vanessa is getting Miss Cain a taxi," Brooke says softly but sure about it. "And taking her all the way home. If you're up for some heavy lifting, sweet thing, you can help me."  
  
"Cool," Yvie says, "we're thinking sodium hydroxide, or, uh-"  
  
"We'll get to the details," Brooke says, looking both amused and impressed. "When the nice lady is gone."  
  
As Vanessa guides Shuga out Brooke reaches to her,  pulling her earrings loose. "Here," she tells Vanessa. "These are worth more than I am." Given the size of the diamonds, Vanessa gets the point she's making but would beg to disagree. She says nothing. For once.  
  
"I will come back for them," Brooke says, "so that's your insurance." She closes Vanessa hand around them gently, and then brings the closed hand up and kisses Vanessa's knuckles. "And my promise."


	9. if i'm shining everyone is going to shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke turns up at Vanessa's place, asking for diamonds, and also perhaps one more kiss. She's ambitious.
> 
> "Oh god," Vanessa says, and drags her inside, runs her hands over her, touching her face and where she's still healing up, like she's making sure Brooke is real.
> 
> "Hello," Brooke says soft.
> 
> "Hi," Vanessa says, even softer.

 

  
After they've done their job and the body is, if not gone entirely, at least entirely unrecognisable, Yvie and Brooke take a small cigarette break.  
  
"Hello, again," Brooke says soft. "I don't know why you're here, but I am very grateful. Did anyone-"  
  
"Vanjie wanted to pay me," Yvie says, "I kind of passed on it."  
  
"Then you broke the first rule," Brooke says, semi-seriously, and reaches over to touch Yvie's cheek. "Well. Whatever you did or why, I know I brought you into this. Ask me anything."  
  
"Why didn't you shoot me?" Yvie says, real calm about it. "Like, there was no one else in the lobby, it would've been quicker to get out."  
  
"Yes," Brooke agrees. "It would have been convenient."  
  
"But you didn't."  
  
"I didn't want to," Brooke tells her. "I couldn't, really."  
  
"We talked for a minute tops," Yvie says wryly.  
  
"We talked," Brooke says. "And I couldn't. So I made you an accomplice instead, because I though maybe this bitch will enjoy having such a big secret just long enough to actually keep it."  
  
"Nailed it," Yvie says, absolutely fond. "I really did."  
  
Brooke reaches over and holds her hand. "You won't find any kind of teacher in me, I don't even know what I am doing," she says, and one day in the future Yvie and Plastique will share this story and laugh themselves stupid over how wrong she is. "But you do have a friend, whatever you decide to do. You're talented, and you can direct that anywhere."  
  
"I didn't need you to tell me that," Yvie says, blunt, and Brooke nods graceful, doesn't fight it.  
  
"I really liked hearing it, though, from you," Yvie adds, and hugs her. "Especially from you."  
  
It is much better to do good in a way no one knows about it, but also Yvie is not about to let Brooke get away with pretending her kindnesses never happened, aren't real, don't fit the story. Yvie calls people out, that's how she shows affection.

  
  
*

  
  
Brooke turns up at Vanessa's place, asking for diamonds, and also perhaps one more kiss. She's ambitious.  
  
"Oh god," Vanessa says, and drags her inside, runs her hands over her, touching her face and where she's still healing up, like she's making sure Brooke is real.  
  
"Hello," Brooke says soft.  
  
"Hi," Vanessa says, even softer.  
  
"If you want to stay a night, I can move-"  
  
"No, baby," Brooke says, sure. "You know, I think respect was invented to cover the empty place where l-" She stops. "Where something else should be." She presses a kiss to Vanessa's cheek, because she does know how to be certain doing that. "Don't stand on ceremony, Miss Mateo. If you want me, take me. Please do."  
  
She tumbles into Vanessa's bed and stays there willing, because she means what she says.  
  
Brooke Lynn Hytes doesn't lie, not even when she's having emotions, and doesn't know what the fuck she's doing.  
  
"They're voting tonight," Vanessa says, kissing her thoroughly, and only little bit amused how easy this city's kingmaker goes pliant for her. "What's going to happen?"  
  
"I don't know, and I shouldn't." Brooke tells her. "It's out of my hands."  
  
"And whoever-" Vanessa stops briefly. "Whoever might be taking over the other stuff."  
  
"It depends," Brooke says sleepily. "There's a few people could step in. I'll wait and see."  
  
"But not you?"  
  
Brooke looks honestly bewildered. "Me? No, I just do- I just get things done. Not me."  
  
That's interesting. "So I guess there's two elections running right now," Vanessa says thoughtfully.  
  
"I guess there is," Brooke says, and reaches for her. "Come back to bed."

 

  
  
*

 

  
  
Nina wins, and Brooke faces up to all her sins and goes to her office.  
  
"I have no right to any kind of forgiveness," she starts, knowing how much she has hurt Nina and with a script in mind and memorised, and Nina ruins everything by stopping, visibly crying, and moving across her desk to grab Brooke close and cry more.  
  
"I love you," Nina says, in between, when she can breathe. "Oh fuck. I love you, Brooke, I love you. You're here?"  
  
"I am and I love you so much," Brooke says back, "it's my one human feeling," and she tries to breathe, experiencing the same problem.  
  
Shuga and Scarlet enter the room, inconveniently. It is election day, but honestly, fuck off. Brooke is entirely wrapped in Nina's arms, the safest place she's ever known.  
  
"Fuck you, I thought you were dead," Scarlet says out loud, racing over to grab at Brooke too. Brooke reaches out, hugs her and shushes her. "Not quite yet," she promises. "Darling, I'm fine."  
  
Shuga is very still, very polished. "I would like to talk to Nina," she says.  
  
Brooke steps out of Nina's lap, reaches over to take Scarlet's arm and nods politely. "We can leave, if you need to talk about work," she says. "Thank you, we'll go." She can be respectful.  
  
"No," Nina says, immovable.  
  
"No," Shuga says, also sure. She has something she wants Brooke to hear her say, and it shows.  
  
"I want to talk to Nina about what I know and am willing to say for immunity," Shuga says, brave and determined, but not quite looking at her. Brooke is so proud, regardless. "You ran on cleaning this town up, and I cannot believe I lost to you. But I did, so let's do it."  
  
"This is where I go," Brooke says gently but firmly, and takes Scarlet out of the room, and leaves the important people to talk. "The beauty and I are going to go get a drink or three."

 

 

 


	10. just focus on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did you ever figure it out?" Honey asks. "Who this girl is?"
> 
> Vanessa, skimming over Honey's invoice and counting over the cash, shrugs. "Nah," she says, thinking about Brooke. "But I don't think she knows either, so we're kind of even."
> 
> "How's that?"
> 
> "She may in fact run the city," Vanessa says amused, "but no one ever told her, so she doesn't know that."

 

  
"Did you ever figure it out?" Honey asks. "Who this girl is?"  
  
Vanessa, skimming over Honey's invoice and counting over the cash, shrugs. "Nah," she says, thinking about Brooke. "But I don't think she knows either, so we're kind of even."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
"She may in fact run the city," Vanessa says amused, "but no one ever told her, so she doesn't know that."  
  
"As of today, I thought Nina West ran this city."  
  
"Sure," Vanessa says, far too pleased with herself. "Look. That's what I said, more or less."  
  
Honey glares.  
  
"Shut up and take my money," Vanessa tells her. "The bitch just wants to live and do no harm to anyone but herself. Satisfied with that?"  
  
"Did she put out?" Honey asks.  
  
"No comment," Vanessa says, and pushes her out the door and slams it shut.

  
  
*

  
  
  
Plastique comes home, and Brooke actually cries, for real, in front of people. Well, just Vanessa. But still.  
  
"I am so sorry, that I was scared," Plastique tells her, crying too, and clinging. "I should have stayed with you."  
  
"No," Brooke says, "no, darling, you did exactly what you were supposed to do. Vanessa, have you met Plastique?"  
  
"Nah," Vanessa says, "who is she, then?"  
  
"Me but much, much better," Brooke says, Plastique nestled against her, "and ten years ago. She's actually perfect."  
  
"Shut up," Plastique says, and bursts into tears all over again.  
  
"And delicate," Brooke adds, very fondly.

  
*

  
  
  
At first, Nina does not want to play nice, and Brooke talks her around to it. It's a strange dark mirror of their usual interactions, but it's fine.  
  
"I knew, broadly speaking I knew and because of that I am culpable," Nina says fiercely, "but she actually profited."  
  
"A lot of people did," Brooke says, with the calm of someone who knows that the blood on her hands is news to no one. "But I can't see how you can keep me and be angry at her at the same time."  
  
"Watch me do it," Nina says. Nina sees things differently. "She wasn't just trying to stay alive, and it is not the same."  
  
Brooke blinks. "Okay," she says. "But I am alive, and she's the reason. Is that enough?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Talk to Shuga," Brooke says, a few moments later, interlacing her fingers with Nina's. "I should have teamed you two up a long time ago. She doesn't like me walking home in the dark alone either, it worries her."  
  
"Yeah, I hate it when you do that," Nina says, because she doesn't have a real answer.  
  
"I know," Brooke says. She doesn't know why either of them can even look her in the eye, but then again, she does also know how stupid love can make you. "Will you speak to Shuga?"  
  
Brooke is going to get them to cooperate if it kills her, pun not intended, and the two of them are going to get so much shit done.

 

  
*

  
  
  
After spending the lion's share of her career chasing after other people's mistresses, it's very strange to have the most dangerous woman she's ever met playing the same role in Vanessa's apartment, her life, and her bed.  
  
Brooke is very good at it, is the worst part. She tailors her days around Vanessa's schedule, she only goes out when she's on Vanessa's arm, she makes nice with Vanessa's friends and when the sun goes down she always seems to be able to read between the lines and work out whether Vanessa wants to hold her down or be held down, or whatever else in between.  
  
She plays nice with Vanessa's friends, and A'keria seems to genuinely like her. Maybe saving someone's life bonds you a bit, Vanessa doesn't know. But if that's the logic, it should apply to Silky too, who is still unimpressed.  
  
Brooke is very good at this role, but if she's playing a role, Vanessa isn't happy about it; Brooke deserves to stop thinking for once and just be.  
  
"Don't take Silky too serious," Vanessa says offhand as they come home from the bar, not really thinking about it. "She gets mad every time I'm in love, so-" she freezes.  
  
Fuck.  
  
"Okay," Brooke says on instinct, raising her hands in surrender. "I learned french in school, not sincerity. I do not know how to respond to that."  
  
"Sorry," Vanessa says quickly. "I shouldn't have said it."  
  
"Don't be sorry," Brooke says, "oh, baby - don't ever be. Hey. Come here."  
  
Vanessa sits in her lap, and Brooke tucks Vanessa's hair way from her face. "If I am scared of saying it," Brooke says, "I am scared of the concept, and a few other things, but not at all about it being you. I adore you, and you should never be sorry for saying anything."  
  
"Oh," Vanessa says, a little overwhelmed. "Okay. And you're- you're okay here? It's not because you think you owe me anything?"  
  
"I am an ungrateful bitch," Brooke promises sincerely, despite all available proof. "So even if I did, I wouldn't pretend anything. At least not about this," she adds, kissing Vanessa quick and sweet, just at the corner of her mouth. "I couldn't."  
  
She's playing a role, but as Vanessa learns over time, it isn't for Vanessa's sake. She's just finding stable ground again, working things out,  and when she does, she sheds the act and she's Brooke again. And she chose Vanessa.

 

  
*

  
  
There's a bit of a mess, when Shuga spills all the secrets, in sworn testimony, but Nina is there the whole time to back her up, and Silky finds herself suddenly busy with a fair few arrests.  
  
In the course of testimony, some people try to win political points by calling Brooke up with threat of subpoena. That's... it's a choice.  
  
"Did you ever have initmate relations with Miss West?" a nervous young man in suit asks, trying to look confident.  
  
"I object," Brooke says immediately.  
  
"You are not in a position to object," the very tired bureaucrat attempting to wrangle them all says. "You're not- you're supposed to answer the question."  
  
"That's what I object to," Brooke says, "I wanted to have sex with her, and she kept saying no. So why do I have to tell you that out here in front of everybody?"  
  
Nina is actually laughing out loud, just in the background, and sitting in amongst the general public Vanessa can hear Yvie's distinctive guffaw across the room, in amongst the rest of the giggling.  
  
"And on October third," the boy in the suit says, trying to regain ground, "at the Westin-"  
  
"Oh," Brooke says, "I see. Sir, I may have shot that gentleman in the face." She doesn't look at Shuga for a moment, but Vanessa does, and sees the softness and sorrow there, as polished as Miss Cain is. "After he beat me and put a gun to my neck. There's a legal term for it, I'm going to remember it in a moment."  
  
"Right," she says, after a very staged pause. "Yes. I think you may call it self-defence. I think that's the technical term for it."  
  
People try to score political points by calling Brooke up because they think she's Nina's weak spot, but even though this arena isn't hers, Brooke is still pretty damn good and came for a fight. She is Nina's, that's for sure, and she knows that so she's here to play the game.  
 

  
*

  
  
After the first round of hearings, and after Nina is officially sworn in, they have cocktails at her office.  
  
"You're a monster," Nina says, berating but also adoring, all in one.  
  
"I'm your monster," Brooke informs her. Nina knows that, but she likes to say it out loud occasionally, to make sure they're fine. "Here's to you, and what you're going to get done."  
  
They drink to it.  
  
"I hired her to find you," Nina says quiet. "I didn't think I was playing matchmaker. But I am glad I did."  
  
"So am I," Brooke says, "good choice."  
  
"Do you love her?"  
  
"I am no good at saying that kind of thing," Brooke says, "Maybe. Yes. Don't tell anyone."  
  
"In your own time," Nina says, "I know you need that."  
  
For two people who are about to run a city, it is a very casual conversation, but sometimes that's what actually matters, between friends.

 

  
*

  
  
  
"Did you ever figure it out?" Honey asks. "Who this girl is?"  
  
"Nah," Vanessa says out loud, but she kind of thinks she did. She doesn't rummage to far down into that feeling though, in case it unearths something that she shouldn't admit.  
  
Love is an unreasonable thing, although if saving Brooke was an impossible goal Vanessa thinks she did pretty good at it anyway.  
  
"But I don't think she knows either, so we're kind of even."  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
